It's all fun and games until
by Seftimiu
Summary: Prompt: Blindness you say? Yes. A Rogue has been blinded and it shouldn't be Roy coming to this shocking revelation because that is cheating. Also has a hint of Captain Cold watching over his Rogues. Slash: Piper/Trickster


Title: It's all fun and games until.  
Author: Seftimiu aka Brain Freeze Rating: PG-13 Warning: Injury to Main character. Angst. Hurt/Comfort Pairing: Piper/Trickster Prompt/Challenge: Blindness you say? Yes. A Rogue has been blinded and it shouldn't be Roy coming to this shocking revelation because that is cheating. Also has a hint of Captain Cold watching over his Rogues.

Disclaimer: Don't own them, don't make money off it.

There was a definite disconnect.

From reality.

It was as though he knew he existed, but at the same time, he wasn't really there yet. He could hear someone crying, screaming, and begging. But he wasn't sure who it was. He was fighting to grab on to any kind of true thought, but he felt completely packed in cotton. There was a distant knowledge just beyond his fingertips that perhaps he shouldn't be trying so hard to connect to reality.

It wasn't until he felt hands holding his own, holding them down, that he started to realize that there was more to this fuzzy existence than he was aware of. It was like hearing sound under water. "Hold still. Hold still!" The voice was telling someone desperately. "Oh, God! Please, just hold still."

Who?

They were almost hysterical. It sounded like they were possibly crying. There was a commotion somewhere in the background. The sound of fighting perhaps? No. The fighting was over. There had been fighting. But this was just someone screaming at someone else. 'How could you?' Over and over again, a man's voice to someone else. Who? Someone had... there had been a weapon right?

He was becoming more and more aware, and for one frantic moment, he realized that he didn't want to BE aware. That he should dive back deeper into that comforting wonderful half-state where nothing truly existed! But it was too late. Just as soon as he came to that realization, it came to him that it was to him the voice was begging to stay still.

It was HIM that was screaming, crying, and begging. HE was the one that was making the racket while someone else cried over the top of him. Holding his hands down.

He began to fight against the hands, desperate. The pain was his whole world.

"It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. Make it stop hurting!" He keened. He was on fire, surely!

And it was then that he became aware that the fire that burned through him was centered on his head. His face.

"Don't move! Don't MOVE! Oh, God. Trickster don't move! James, please!" Hands held his own down tighter, not letting him rip at his face. Not letting him pull off whatever it was that was hurting him so badly. His voice choked with tears and begging him to please just stop moving. He'd make it worse. Oh God, so much blood!

Now, everything was TOO real. Too much. And he could not stop screaming, even when he didn't seem to be able to draw a breath. Life was suddenly on fast forward, and too loud. Too much. Too much. Overwhelming pain. God just make it stop!

"James! James. Try to stay still. You're making it worse. Damn it! Where is the ambulance?"

Piper? Piper. What was Piper doing there? Where were they? He couldn't think. Couldn't remember. It didn't matter because he was surely in hell. He heard someone shouting further away, about take that scumbag out of here, before I kill him myself. Who was that? The voice was familiar. Also bordering on hysteria. Who had been with him and Piper? He couldn't remember. Just make the pain stop, please? He begged Piper, pulling at his hands. He could feel hot stickiness on his face. His face was wet. Was it blood? Was it tears? Both? Please, Piper, please! Help me! Help me. Make it stop hurting!

"Damn you! Hold his hands so I can help him." He heard Piper order someone else to take Trickster's hands. Someone not speaking. Was it the other person? The one that had called someone else a scumbag? Did it really matter? Just make the pain STOP!

But he felt someone else taking his hands, someone else holding down his shoulders. He couldn't see! Couldn't tell what was going on. All he could do was scream, and beg it to stop. Please stop! Please, Piper, help me! Help me! It hurts so bad!

I'll be good! I'll never do anything wrong ever again, just please please please stop! Please! Oh god, it hurt so fucking much!

Fuck fuck fuck...

He didn't hear the music at first. It was too far away, or perhaps it was because he couldn't hear much over his own ranting and raving. Begging.

And fuck anyone that thought they could be calm in the face of such injuries. The shit in the movies where the hero stoically continues on after being shot, was bullshit! Oh, my fucking God! This hurt like HELL! Wait... music...Music?

It wove around him, dulling his senses and dragging him back down into that sea of cotton and vagueness which he'd once been in when the shock had first started. Hands were stroking his while the music played. Soothing.

There was a siren in the distance.

The pain was near, he could almost feel it. It was 'there'. But it was behind a curtain of notes, blocking them out. Shading him from the harsh fire that was burning him to death. The fingers on his hands smoothed over his skin, and he became aware of a soft babble of words. Who was it? Cold? Captain Cold? What was he... he couldn't remember.

The music continued on and on and on...

There was no time. No reality other than the sweet song that played for him. Just for him. The words Len spoke ran into one another. Promising that he would be all right. That things were different now. That he'd be okay. The 'Imposter' was being dealt with.

What imposter?

Warmth and coolness. In turns. Warm blanket? But something cooler toward his head? Trying to put the fire out on his head? The sirens were closer, and still the music played mixing with Captain Cold's words till it was almost like it was a song.

A song of comfort.

And eventually? They too faded as he was pulled deeper and deeper into darkness. This time, with a 'taste' of chemical.

He knew nothing, for a long time.

Occasionally, there was a sound, a voice, a rumble of conversation. The sound of metal on metal, or the soft step of rubber shoes on tile. But they would come and go and time would pass in darkness. He was barely aware he was a person, much less that things were going on in the background.

But all good things come to an end. And this too had to end.Which is why he was starting to discover his body again, long before he really wished to.

He was sore. So sore, and he once more felt himself floating toward awakefulness, and this time? This time he fought it. Tried to dive deeper down into the pool of sleep. But whomever was out there was having none of it.

"I know you're in there, Trickster. Come on, James. Wake up now. You have to wake up." He felt fingers stroking his hand, gentle and soothing. "I know it hurts. But you have to wake up and let us know you're in there."

Funny how he never noticed how sweet and musical the voice itself was? But then, he was also hearing things through the remains of a drug haze. He tried to open his eyes, but something weighed heavily on them. Fingers twitching, he tried to walk them up to his face, but the hands grabbed them and pulled them down again. "No, no touching. You have to leave the bandages alone."

There was reluctance in that voice. Was there regret there as well?

His lips were dry and he tried to lick them. They were sticky and his tongue got stuck on the roof of his mouth and then his lips. "Water?" The voice offered. It was just what he needed most at that second.

"Yes..." He croaked and felt like he was going to choke on the dryness of his throat.

Blessed water dripped on his lips and he realized that there was a sponge attached. A small sponge which he eagerly sucked on despite the strange taste that was also coating it. It was pulled away, and then reapplied with more water added. It was so nice and cold.

There were other noises once the sponge was taken away, and he slowly realized they were 'making busy' noises. Someone was straightening his blanket. He finally connected a name to the voice. It had been there all along, but in his defense, he was still rather drugged to the gills. "Piper?" He whispered. "Hurts."

"I know." The 'busy' hands came back toward one of his own, patting it in quick pats and then straightening his blanket near his chest. "I know. They'll be giving you more medicine for that soon. I think they said that once you were awake, they'd give you a button to push. But it is important that you wake up once in a while."

Why was that voice sounding so harsh and... upset? Well, he was hurt. Yeah.

Piper cared about people.

It was kind of nice, really. To be cared about. Even if he did act like a total jackass sometimes and gave Piper a hard time, just because he could.

There was a sound of a sharp knock and then someone else was making noises too. Not that he could tell who it was, or what they were doing. But Piper seemed to realize that Trickster needed to know what was going on.

"I hit the nurse's button when you woke up. They need to look at all these... devices and stuff." Piper's hand was on his shoulder.

"And someone is coming in to ask you some questions." The nurse stated as she finished whatever she was doing.

Seconds later, someone rapped on the door sharply. "Hello, I'm Dr. Wilkes. You're Neurologist. Now, do you prefer James, Giovanni, Trickster, or... some other name, which I'm sure you have well over a dozen." He sounded almost bored.

"James." Trickster answered. Piper's hand was starting to draw away, but Trickster fluttered his fingers toward where it had been. Grasping for it. He didn't like the unknown, not really. Piper was 'known'.

"All right, James. Do you know what today is?" The other man asked.

"Not a clue." He tried to clear his throat without coughing. Someone, probably Piper, dripped more of the moistened sponge onto his lips. "Thanks."

"Hm." Wilkes made a small noise. "Do you know whose hand you are currently holding?"

"Piper." He whispered.

"Good." Wilkes was quiet a moment before continuing. "Do you remember how you were injured?"

"Fight?" He ventured a guess.

"Specifics." Wilkes prompted.

"Big fight?"

"I'll take that as a no." Wilkes said blandly. "I want you to remember these three objects. Horn. Light. Puppet. When I ask you for them, tell me what they were. In the meantime, what is two plus two?"

"Four. Unless you're Riddler. Then who the hell knows." Trickster cleared his throat again. His head was really starting to hurt.

"Funny." Though the tone of voice said that the doctor hadn't found it such.

"Tough room." Trickster commented, and was surprised to feel Piper squeeze his hand.

"A light turns red. Do you stop, go, or proceed with caution?" Dr. Wilkes asked.

"Iiiis a cop around?" Trickster asked.

"Give me the three objects I listed before."

"Puppet. Flute and... lamp?" Trickster offered, uncertainty in his voice.

"Are you attempting to be amusing, or is that as they say, your final answer?" Wilkes asked.

"It was wrong?" Trickster felt Piper squeeze his hand again, but this time Piper didn't relax. It felt desperate. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" He asked, his voice still barely above a whisper.

"You're doing a lot better than anyone that's been shot in the head has any right to expect. Don't worry too much about it, at this time. You have a long recovery ahead of you. It is my feeling that you will improve." Wilkes told him. Then turned to instruct the nurse on his medications.

"I was wrong." Trickster pulled on Piper's hand. "What was the answer?"

"Horn. Light. Puppet." Piper whispered. "You said. Puppet. Flute. Lamp."

"Guess close doesn't cut it." Trickster muttered and sighed.

"I will return tomorrow. For now, rest." Wilkes instructed and left as briskly as he'd appeared.

It was silent and Trickster was sure they were alone now.

"How bad?" He asked, trying to walk his fingers back up toward his face. Just as he thought, Piper caught his hand and held it in his a moment before replacing it back on the bed and covering it with his bed-covers.

"It's... they don't know yet." He finally answered. "Not as bad as it could be."

James was a con-artist. To be a successful con-artist, one had to know how to read body language. But one could also listen to the voice at times. And Piper? Piper was NOT a good con himself.

"Liar." Trickster pronounced decidedly after a few seconds of thought.

"I'm... not. They, well, they don't know for sure." He hedged.

"Not for sure. But enough. How bad? What happened?" His voice was still croaking, and he hated that the more he spoke, the more 'aware' he was becoming. His face was 'pulling' where the bandages were every time he spoke, no matter how he tried to do it easy and carefully.

"We wondered if you would remember. You don't. I'm not sure if that is good or bad." Piper commented softly, once more patting at the blanket and then grabbing the bed railing. Trickster knew this, by sound alone. It made a certain 'noise' and he could feel the way the bed kind of shifted toward Piper.

"Hm." Trickster made the noise hoping it would prompt him without forcing him to speak more.

"I..." Piper trailed off, and James could hear a slow 'tick tick tick' that for a while he could not quite place. After a while, he realized it was Piper tapping on the railing.

"Tell me." He croaked out, only to find that Piper was using it as an excuse to give him more water. Which was fine, but not helping with Piper's avoidance of the topic.

Finally, he settled for saying. "Must be that bad." He tensed up, but that in turn made his face hurt worse. He pulled his hand up, putting it on his head before Piper could react and catch his hand.

They'd shaved his head. That was the first thing he noticed. It was shaved. His haaair. His beautiful beautiful blond haiiiiir. Ugh.

Piper grabbed his fingers lightly, pulling them straight off, but gentle as well. "James, no. Don't. You'll hurt yourself."

"Tell me." He ground out between clenched teeth. It was starting to hurt more, more now that he had gotten a hint. More now that the medicine had worn off more.

"It... it's a miracle you are alive." Piper said in a rough voice. "The bullet... you were shot, James. Axel, he... You were shot, and the bullet... you should be dead! It shattered. It shattered into three parts. We always said you were hardheaded." The laugh was choked. "Goddamn it, you almost died, again! But this time, the bullet shattered..."

"Hey... hey..." He turned his hand around and caught Piper's, squeezing it. "I'm here though. I... don't even remember..." He trailed off. He did have the world's worst headache building up though.

"You keep doing this to me. You... you act like a total ass and then, then you jump in front of bullets for me. And then you die and--"

Trickster squeezed his hand again, harder this time. "Didn't die this time." He pointed out, licking his lips which still faintly tasted of whatever was on that sponge.

"You could have. You should have... and now you're..." Piper trailed off again, and James swore he heard something almost like a whimper.

"Where did the shards go?" Trickster pulled on his hand. Trying to get him to keep talking, to tell him more. He could feel the pain building, but he wanted to know before they sent him back into dreamland. He figured he was at least going to live. He was 'awake', and 'aware', and talking. So that was a plus in his book. But obviously, it was bad still, because Piper did NOT generally make noises like that. He was stronger than that. Usually.

"It was between your eyes, James." He whispered. "It shattered, between your eyes."

His heart stuttered in his chest, and it was enough that he became aware of a faint beeping to the side. Because the beeping became faster as well, and Piper was suddenly clutching his hand and rubbing it. "You're alive though. You're alive, and that is a miracle and... all the rest will be figured out later."

He tried to regain control of his breathing, because he was starting to feel faint. He was only vaguely aware of more voices and the sound of people quickly moving around the room. A mask was settled on his face and the faint 'taste' of chemicals was in his mouth again. Almost like tasting a 'smell'. And he was being dragged back down into the sweet oblivion where nothing else mattered.

How long he stayed there, he could not guess. But he half wished he could stay there for a while longer.

It was easier waking the next time. Only he stayed as still and as quiet as he could as he strained to hear what was going on around him. He'd tried to open his eyes, but there was still something pressing down on them. Bandages at a guess. The faint noises of machines were still in the background, but the mask had long since been removed. His lips were sticking together again, and as he tried to lick them. Once more his tongue got momentarily stuck to the roof of his mouth. The taste reminded him that he'd not brushed his teeth in probably days.

There was a 'creak' and the sound of someone putting their feet on the floor in a hurry. "James?"

Piper.

Had he been here the whole time? Did he ever leave?

He wasn't sure if he should be relieved, or annoyed. That required much too much thinking for now. So he settled on being relieved. Because he wasn't alone.

Somehow? Being alone would make this much much worse. Alone in the dark. "Piper?"

"I'm here." He said, and why were those words comforting?

It still hurt. But he was noticing other things hurt instead of just his head. His neck, and back were sore as well. He'd not noticed the last time he was awake. Probably because the main injury screamed so much louder. The skin between his eyes itched terribly as well. And it felt tight, somehow.

"How are you feeling?" Piper asked quietly. Trickster suspected it was for lack of anything better to say. It wasn't as though he could seriously believe that Trickster felt better!

"Like shit." He answered honestly. "How bad is it, really? I mean... how messed up am I?"

He had images in his head of horrific scars. How would he con anyone if his face was a twisted mess a la Two-Face?

"I've not really seen it. They clean the wound, but they usually ask me to leave during that. But mostly, I see bruising." Piper answered, sounding reluctant to James' ears. "They say you're pretty lucky. I... don't really know what to say." He admitted. "I thought you were dead for a moment. I mean, just as it happened."

The screaming probably tipped him off that he wasn't, huh? But Trickster just managed not to say it aloud. Mostly because he was too tired to really say unnecessary words.

"On a scale of one to ten, what is it?" Piper asked, his voice gentling, and seeming to come closer.

He's going to mess with the blanket again, I just bet... Yep. There it is! I swear if he tucks me in any tighter I'll be strapped down tighter than an Arkham nutjob.

"I dunno... seven. Eight." He muttered quietly. "Head hurts. Neck sore. Back hurts." He bitched. But he had a right to bitch. He was shot. In the head! That should more than allow him to complain a bit. But he still missed that he was taking on a whine-y tone. Of course, he should be allowed to whine too. It hurt. "Nine." He whispered.

Piper took his hand and carefully and methodically wrapped his fingers around a small cord. He put his finger on the top of it. "This is the pump. It is set up so you can't overdose. Just push it." But Piper didn't really give him time to push it himself, instead he pressed James' finger on the button. In seconds the medicine had flooded his veins and brought a sweet relief.

"Ohhhh, the good stufffffff..." James muttered quietly.

"You have a head injury." Piper said lightly. "I think you're allowed the good stuff."

There was a distant 'squeak' and Piper was speaking again, but not to Trickster. "Are you sure you should be here? There's police all over this hospital..." Piper had his voice low as he spoke.

"I needed to check on him."

Len?

"You'd be amazed how far you can get in this hospital with a mask and a badge that says you're working here. Stole it from someone's locker downstairs." Len sounded almost amused, but as he came closer, his voice turned serious. "James? Can you hear me?"

"Len? What are you doing here?" Trickster was 'floating on a cloud' at this point. It was niiiiiice.

"He's been medicated." Piper explained. "And he has no memory of the incident."

"Hm. I'm here to see you, kiddo." Captain Cold's voice was definitely closer. "You just relax and enjoy the meds."

"Did they recapture..." Piper started and then trailed off.

"Not yet." Cold's voice was dripping with disdain and scorn. "But when we find him. And we WILL be the ones that find him. Not the police..." This time he let it trail off.

"What, exactly happened?" Trickster asked, still kind of floooooating along. "Who shot me? Whyyyy did they shoot me? Was it the pants? Sometimes, it is the pants."

"You and Axel. He didn't want to give up being Trickster. Did the 'there can only be one' thing." Len explained quickly. "I can't stay long. But I'll be back. The past is the past. And he is no Rogue in my book." He swore. "There are lines. He's crossed it. He pays."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and it was gone quickly, the door squeaking seconds later.

"Not calling the heroes or the police out there? Tell them that Cold was here?" James asked quietly.

"No." Piper said shortly. There was a heavy silence there, and James wasn't sure what to make of it. "I don't care who gets him in the end. So long, as there is an end to him." He added so quietly that for a second James thought he imagined the words.

"You used to be so nice." James teased.

"He. Shot. You." Piper's voice had dropped into that dark tone that brought a shiver to his spine. It didn't belong there. "Nice? Is not going to fix that. And it's not going to stop him from doing it again. I'm tired of being 'nice' to people like him." He said bitterly.

He felt 'smooth'. It was strange to feel 'smooth'. Since he was pretty sure that shouldn't be a general feeling. Like he was just covered in quicksilver, but in no real true pain. "Piper?"

"Hm." He felt the fingers on his shoulder again. Swirrrrling in his quicksilverness.

"What did we talk about before the brat shot me?" He asked, barely managing to push the words out over the melted metal that surrounded his tongue. "It was... squishy?"

There was a startled laugh above him. "What?"

"I... feels mentally squishy. Liiiiike... pink sweet jellyfish with... sparkles." James breathed the words.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Piper ran his fingers down his shoulder to his hand, taking it in his.

"We talked about pink-sweet-squishy-good-warm feelings-stuff?" He tried to explain further. But his thoughts were becoming very very abstract.

"You mean, we talked about us? Our... uh... relationship?" Piper offered, and the awkwardness was like a flare in the dark. So to speak. Even drugged, James could catch on to the sound.

"Yeahhhhhhh warm and nice squishiness. And then bratling showed up, right?" He asked, trying desperately to figure out what happened.

"Ah. Well, that's a rather unique way of putting it." Piper decided. "We talked about you and I trying to. Mm, date." He finally told him, in a soft voice. "After dying, any phobias seem a moot point, I guess."

"Got over myself?" Trickster added, threading his fingers through his. "Still going to like me if I'm all oogie and ugly?"

The voice was in his ear as he spoke this time, soft and soothing. "James? You here alive? Is the most beautiful thing I've seen in well over a year." Gently he pressed a kiss to his cheek, near his jaw.

"Besides, nothing in this world is uglier than those striped pants of yours. And I've gotten used to them." He added as he straightened up.

James startled into a laugh and slowly smiled. Piper took his hand again and squeezed it. "We'll get through this too." He promised.

As he drifted off to sleep, he relaxed. It wouldn't be easy, no. But, they conquered death.

This? This was nothing.


End file.
